In Danger's Path (41 page)

“What's this?”

“Ration coupons for twenty gallons of gas,” she said. “They're mine, I've been saving them up.”

“I don't need them,” he said. “But thank you just the same.”

“I don't feel right using black-market gasoline,” Janice said.

Well, if you feel that way, why don't we swap the wheels and tires off your Ford? That way we wouldn't be riding on black-market tires, either, thereby ensuring that if we lose the war, nobody can point an accusing finger at you
.

What are you making fun of her for? She's right, and you're wrong. Among other reasons, because she is a highly principled woman, and you know what you are
.

“Whatever you say, Janice,” he said, taking the coupons.

Her perfume had now begun to fill the car.

“I have a seventy-two-hour pass,” Janice said. “And I thought it would be nice to get out of Philadelphia.”

“Good idea.”

“I went to the chaplain—he's a friend of mine…”

Of course he is
.

“…and he arranged for rooms for us at the Chalfont-Haddon Hall, in Atlantic City—there's some sort of a program, a tie-in with the hospital. I hope that's all right with you.”

Rooms, plural. Of course. You don't go to the chaplain and ask him to help you find a room where you and the boyfriend can carry on carnally over the weekend
.

“That's fine with me,” Weston said.

“The rooms and the food come with a twenty-percent discount, but not the liquor.”

Of course. What self-respecting chaplain would be pushing discounted booze?

“Well, then, we'll have to go easy on the booze,” Jim said.

“Have you been drinking a lot, Jim?”

“Oh, I have a drink from time to time with Dr. Bolemann.”
No more than three or four beers at lunch, followed, at the cocktail hour, by as many martinis, to give
us courage to face the really bad wine they offer in the dining room?

There you go, you're lying to her!

“He's a really nice man,” Janice said. “My father told me he knows him. I'm glad you've become friends.” She went into her purse again and this time came out with a road map. “I marked the route,” she said. “I think the best way is to go into Philadelphia and take the Tacony-Palmyra bridge.”

“I'm Lieutenant Hardison,” Janice said to the desk clerk. “And this is Captain Weston. I believe Chaplain Nesbitt made reservations for us?”

The desk clerk checked. “Yes, ma'am,” he said. “Two rooms at the Chaplain's Program discount.” The desk clerk examined Weston carefully.

And I know what you're thinking, buddy. “What's a nice girl like this one, a personal friend of the chaplain, doing with a guy like you?
”

“What time does the dining room close?” Janice asked.

“You don't have much time before food service stops,” the desk clerk said. “But there will be dancing until two A.M.”

“Well, then,” Janice said. “Why don't we eat now, while we still can? Could you have our luggage taken to our rooms?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the desk clerk said, and handed them each a key.

“There's a Roman Catholic mass at six-thirty every morning,” the desk clerk said, and pointed to a sign announcing religious services. “And a Protestant nondenominational service at nine-thirty on Sunday morning.”

“Thank you,” Janice said. “We'll try to make the Sunday-morning service.”

“And I'm required to remind you not to open your window curtains or blinds at night,” the desk clerk said. “At least not while you're burning lights in your room.”

“What?” Weston asked.

“Submarines, sir,” the desk clerk said. “German submarines. They use lights ashore to locate ships.”

“Oh, of course,” Weston said.

They each had a cocktail before dinner, Janice a gin fizz, and Jim a bourbon on the rocks, there being no scotch. And with their “Shore Dinner,” they shared a bottle of New York State sparkling wine—made by the “champagne process,” according to the label.

Janice's first lobster had been with him at Bookbinder's in Philadelphia. This was her second. She really liked them, now that she'd found the courage to try one.

The band began to play while they were still eating; after their dessert, they danced. Jim very carefully maintained as much distance between their bodies as he could manage.

“I would really like to walk on the beach,” Janice said. “Could we do that before we go to bed?”

Our separate beds, of course
.

“If there are no lights,” he said, practically, “how are we going to see?”

“By moonlight. It's a full moon.”

They walked perhaps half a mile down the wide board-walk, and then Janice stepped over a chain barring access to stairs leading to the beach and motioned for him to follow her.

“The sign says, ‘Access to the beach is forbidden during hours of darkness,'” Weston quoted.

“Oh, who'll know?” she said. “And we're in uniform.”

He followed her onto the beach.

She caught his hand.

“That's also against regulations,” she said. “They call it PDA.”

“They call what ‘PDA'?”

“It stands for ‘public display of affection,'” she said. “‘Officers will not show a PDA.' Should we stop?”

“Hell, no.”

“I wasn't sure how you were going to answer that,” Janice said.

“Excuse me?”

“You've been,” she paused, considering her next words, “cool and distant, I guess—since I got in the car.”

“I thought the same thing about you,” he said.

“I thought maybe I scared you off when I told you I loved you,” Janice said.

“As I recall it—and the words are burned forever in my memory—you said, quote, I think I love you, unquote. I was afraid you'd had time to think it over and changed your mind.”

“I have had time to think it over, and when I saw you in the parking lot, I knew I could drop the ‘I think.'”

“Jesus, Janice!”

He stopped and looked at her.

“Good evening, sir!” a male voice said, adding, “Ma'am.”

Weston turned and found himself looking at a Coast Guardsman. He was wearing a pea coat, puttees, and a web cartridge belt. A Springfield rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he was leading a very large German shepherd on a leash.

The Coast Guardsman saluted. Weston returned it in a reflex action, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Janice doing the same thing.

She's adorable when she does that! And there's something somehow erotic about it, too!

“Sir, you're not supposed to be on the beach during hours of darkness,” the Coast Guardsman said.

What is this guy supposed to be doing? Repelling a landing party from a German submarine? Or is seeing him marching up and down with his rifle and killer dog supposed to remind people there's a war on?

Janice dropped to her knees, made kissing sounds, and reached out to the dog, who was sitting on his haunches.

“Watch the goddamned dog, Janice!”

“Don't be silly, he's sweet!”

The killer dog nuzzled Janice's neck and sent sand flying with his tail.

“He's not as ferocious as he looks,” the Coast Guardsman said.

“Either that, or he's a very good judge of character,” Weston said, and then added: “Actually we have two very good reasons for being on the beach. One, I wanted to make sure for myself that no one has stolen the ocean, and two, this officer and I are trying very hard not to be seen engaged in a PDA.”

“PDA?”

“Public display of affection. The punishment for which, I'm told, is death by firing squad.”

The Coast Guardsman chuckled. “The thing is, Captain, the Chief rides along the beach in a jeep. If he sees you…”

“I'll sic the killer dog on him,” Weston said.

The Coast Guardsman laughed.

“No, you won't,” Janice said, standing up and brushing the sand off her uniform skirt. “We'll get off the beach. It's time we went to bed, anyhow.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the Coast Guardsman said, winking at Weston.

I wish what you are thinking was true, but what the lady meant to say was, “It's time we went to our
separate
beds
.”

“I'll see you to your room,” Jim said, as they waited for the elevator.

“All right,” she said. She took her key from her purse, looked at it, and announced, “I'm on eight.”

He checked his key.

“So am I,” he said.

“Eight oh eight,” Janice said.

“Eight ten,” he replied.

Adjacent rooms? Probably not. Eight oh nine is probably next to eight oh eight, and eight ten is across the corridor
.

But close! Is that an omen?

No. It means that the hotel reserves a block of rooms for the chaplain's healthy and wholesome Weekend in Atlantic City program
.

She stopped before the door to 808 and handed him the key. He put it in the lock and she raised her face to be kissed. He kissed her, gently, on the lips.

What that instant hard-on proves is that you are an oversexed sonofabitch, nothing more. She wasn't promising more than you got, and you really should be ashamed of yourself
.

Considering how you spent last Saturday night, how could you even think of making love to this virgin?

“Call me when you wake up,” Jim said. “And we'll have breakfast.”

Janice nodded, touched his cheek, and slipped into her room.

He stared at the closed door for a moment, forced from his mind a very clear mental image of Lieutenant (j.g.) Janice Hardison, NC, USNR, taking off her uniform, then went searching, across the hall, for Room 810.

It wasn't across the hall, it was adjacent to 808, where, at that very moment, Janice was probably unbuttoning her crisp white shirt and getting ready for bed.

He stepped into his room, found his bag, and took from it a bottle of scotch whisky from the Greenbrier's liquor store, with every intention of taking at least one very stiff drink.

But when he poured it, he changed his mind.

Obviously, the last thing in the world you need is a drink. One drink will lead to another, and the next thing you know, you will be knocking at the connecting door to Janice's room and making a four-star ass of yourself
.

You don't need a drink, you need a cold shower. A long, ice-cold shower
.

A long ice-cold shower gave him goose bumps and the shivers but did little to erase from his mind the image of Janice taking off her uniform. He put on a terry-cloth bathrobe he found hanging on the bathroom door, went into the bedroom, and decided he really did need a drink, for medicinal purposes.

As he felt the scotch warming his body, there was a knock at the door. He opened it and looked out, but there was no one in the corridor.

Jesus Christ, that's Janice knocking at the connecting door!

He went to it.

“Jim?”

“Yes.”

Who the hell did she expect?

“Open the door.”

He unlocked the door.

She was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe identical to his.

He had a very clear mental image of her just before she slipped into it.

“Turn off the lights,” she said.

“What?”

“You heard what he said, about turning the lights off before you open the curtains.”

“Right,” Jim said, and went around the room, turning off the lights. When he had finished, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, but then there was the sound of curtains being opened. And in a moment, his eyes adjusted to the light.

Janice was standing by the window.

He went and stood behind her.

She smelled now of soap, not perfume. Her hair was still wet.

He put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her body even through the thick robe.

“How beautiful,” Janice said, and leaned back against him.